All Is Calm, All Is Bright

Christmas Eve has always been a Parker thing. Uncle Ben started it years ago, back when the apartment still had ugly green carpet and Peter was short enough to stand on the coffee table without breaking anything. Ben would invite a couple of neighbors over, spread out some cookies and a potluck dinner, and tell bad jokes until May rolled her eyes so hard it felt like they’d get stuck.

Even now, the tradition carries on. May’s the one steering the ship, but it’s still the same core idea—people, food, laughter, and just enough chaos to feel like the holidays. The living room’s buzzing with voices, full to bursting in the best way. Mrs. Gladstone, their neighbor across the hall, is perched on the loveseat looking after her seven-year-old nephew Joey, both of them sharing a plate of what Joey swears are the best rolls ever. Ned’s mom and his Lola have claimed a corner of the couch, laughing so hard at Meredith’s story that Peter can barely make out the words. Something about the ER and a guy with a candy cane lodged where candy canes definitely don’t belong.

Peter’s not paying much attention, though. He and Ned are camped out on the floor by the coffee table, surrounded by frosting tubes and sprinkles, assembling what can only be described as a sugar-fueled art project. May had picked up one of those cookie kits—the ones with pre-baked shapes and enough icing to keep a seven-year-old like Joey entertained for hours.

Peter’s got a Christmas tree cookie in front of him, and he’s painstakingly adding tiny ornaments to its branches, one dot of icing at a time. Except somewhere along the way, the Christmas tree had abandoned its usual green and red colors in favor of a more Spider-Man like palette. It’s not even intentional—his hands just sort of did it. Muscle memory, maybe. Either way, it’s probably going to get a comment from Ned.

Across the table, Joey is attacking his own cookie with enough red frosting to paint the walls, and Peter can’t decide if it’s supposed to be Santa or a murder scene. Probably both. But Joey’s laughing so hard that it doesn’t matter.

Peter glances up, his gaze sweeping the room. Mrs. Gladstone is talking to May now, probably about one of those holiday TV specials they both love. Ned’s Lola is passing a plate of lumpia across the couch, and Alex is using dramatic hand gestures to reenact his and Meredith’s candy cane story for the third time. The apartment is warm, loud, and full of people.

And it’s… nice. More than nice. It’s a Christmas Eve moment that feels frozen in time, like a snow globe you don’t want to shake. Peter isn’t sure why it’s hitting him so hard tonight, but he leans into it, letting the hum of voices and laughter settle over him like a blanket.

Then, there’s a knock at the door.

Peter freezes, mid-icing, his hand hovering over his Spider-Man Tree cookie. They weren’t expecting anyone else—this is the group. It’s always been the group. He looks at May, and she meets his gaze with a smile, one of those I-know-something-you-don’t smiles that makes him suspicious.

Without a word, she gets up, brushing her hands on her apron as she heads for the door.

What Peter doesn’t expect to see when May opens the door is Tony Stark and Pepper Potts, standing there like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Tony’s holding a container that smells suspiciously like lasagna, while Pepper has what looks like a tin of freshly baked cookies balanced on one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.

Peter’s jaw practically hits the floor.

Next to him, Ned freezes, following Peter’s line of sight. A second later, he leans in close, his voice a whisper but full of awe. “Is that? Is that Tony Stark and Pepper Potts?”

Peter doesn’t answer, mostly because he’s too busy trying to process the sight himself. He hears the amazement in Ned’s voice and feels it echoing in his own chest. Because no matter how many times he’s bumped into Pepper at the tower or spent hours working with Tony on some project, it’s still weird—jarring, even—to see them here.

In his apartment. His tiny, slightly rundown Queens apartment that’s about as far from the Stark penthouse as you can get.

Peter should feel embarrassed, he thinks. Should feel the weight of the comparison, the sharp contrast between their world and his. But he doesn’t.

Instead, there’s this warm, quiet feeling blooming in his chest. A kind of comfort, maybe, or something else he can’t quite name. The fact that they came—Tony Stark and Pepper Potts, billionaires with undoubtedly a hundred other things they could be doing on Christmas Eve—means something. It has to.

Peter’s gaze shifts to May, whose little smile before she opened the door now feels a lot more loaded. This was probably her doing. She’d somehow convinced them to come, he swears her charm and stubbornness are like her very own superpower.

But they could’ve said no. Tony could’ve made up some excuse about work, and Pepper could’ve said she had too many things to do. They didn’t have to be here.

And yet they are.

Peter doesn’t know what to do with that. Doesn’t even know how to feel about it, really. All he knows is that it’s good. That it feels good, in a way he’s not sure he’s ready to put into words.

-

Tony’s only been inside the Parker residence once before—if you can even count it. That first time was all business: confronting the kid he knew was Spider-Man and recruiting him as backup. It was in and out, no time to notice the peeling paint on the walls or the way the apartment smelled faintly of cinnamon and old books. Since then, he’s driven Peter home twice, always waiting at the curb while the kid bounded up the steps into the aging brownstone that looked like it was held together more by habit than structural integrity.

But now, here he is again, standing in front of the open door with Pepper on his arm and Tupperware containers of lasagna and cookies in hand. (Ordered, not made—because let’s be honest, Tony Stark doesn’t bake, and neither does Pepper, even if she has the Pinterest boards to suggest otherwise.)

May had reached out to Pepper a week ago, casually mentioning the Christmas Eve tradition she and Peter had kept alive since Ben’s passing. Pepper told him about it later, and the decision to attend was practically unanimous. It wasn’t like either of them had big plans for Christmas Eve.

He could’ve been in the lab, tinkering with another iteration of the Iron Man suit, losing himself in the hum of machinery and the glow of holograms. But that idea felt cold. Lonely. And this—this felt better.

Not just better. Right. And a heck of a lot better than going to some party and getting drunk off his ass.

He wants to be here. That thought catches him off guard even now, as he stands in the doorway, staring into the warm chaos of the Parker apartment. Plates of food are balanced precariously on mismatched tables; voices overlap in a steady hum of conversation and laughter. Faces turn to look at him and Pepper, curiosity and surprise etched into their expressions.

Tony Stark doesn’t get nervous. That’s not his thing. He’s been to black-tie events with dignitaries and faced down gods and aliens without breaking a sweat. But right now, under the weight of all these eyes, he feels… exposed.

It’s not just about making a good impression. He wants to fit in here. To slide into this part of Peter’s life the way the kid’s managed to slide into his.

Because Peter has blended into Tony’s life almost too easily. Whether it’s the way he fit right in with the engineers during Stark Industries’ holiday events—like a missing puzzle piece—or the way he brought warmth to the otherwise cold, clinical penthouse when he got snowed in. Or maybe it’s the way Peter had helped turn the lab into a holiday-themed workspace, complete with garlands, twinkling lights, and even a tree that Tony can admit he enjoys seeing every time he walks in.

The kid’s presence has become a constant, weaving its way into corners of Tony’s life he didn’t even realize needed filling. And now, Tony finds himself wanting to return the favor—to fit in here, in this small, messy, warm corner of Peter’s world.

The faces staring back at him make it clear that he’s an outsider here. Or at least, he feels like one, until May steps forward with that easy, inviting smile of hers and says, “Everyone, this is Tony and Pepper—Peter’s mentor, and my friend.”

The words wrap around him like a blanket, chasing away the awkwardness he didn’t even want to admit he felt. Smiles light up the room, and voices erupt in warm greetings. Suddenly, he’s not an outsider anymore.

“Hi, everyone! Sorry we’re a bit late,” Pepper says, stepping further into the room like she’s been coming here for years. She passes the bottle of wine to May, who grins and says, “Let’s get this baby open!”

Pepper laughs softly, leaning up to kiss Tony on the cheek and giving his hand a quick squeeze with her free one. It’s a small gesture, but one that anchors him, steadying whatever lingering nerves he doesn’t want to admit to. She nods her head toward Peter before heading off with May to the kitchen—though “kitchen” might be too generous a word for the corner of the apartment outfitted with an oven, a fridge, and just enough counter space to hold a few plates.

That leaves Tony standing in the middle of the living room, lasagna container in hand, scanning the room until his eyes land on Peter.

The kid is sitting cross-legged on the floor next to two other boys, one around his age and the other much, much younger. Tony doesn’t even bother guessing their ages—he’s awful at that kind of thing. Peter looks ten to him most days, despite actually being fourteen, and the kid next to him could be… Ted? Fred? Something like that.

Peter talks about his best friend constantly, but this is Tony’s first time meeting him. He makes a mental note to remember the kid’s name because, now that he thinks about it, this is the guy who helped Peter hack a multimillion-dollar suit. Tony should probably at least shake his hand.

“Mr. Stark! I didn’t know you were coming,” Peter says, hopping to his feet so fast he nearly knocks over a cup of frosting on the coffee table. He walks right up to Tony and stops just short, looking up at him with a tentative smile that’s equal parts surprise and excitement.

And just like that, any last, lingering worries Tony had about fitting in or making an impression vanish. The kid looks happy—really happy. That’s all that matters.

“Yeah, well, surprise,” Tony says, grinning as he reaches out to ruffle Peter’s hair. Peter tries to duck, but he’s way too slow, and Tony gets a satisfying mess of curls under his palm.

“Let me hand this off to your aunt,” Tony says, gesturing to the lasagna in his other hand, “and then you can introduce me to everyone properly.”

Peter nods but leans in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper as he eyes the lasagna warily. “Did you actually make that, Mr. Stark?”

Tony rolls his eyes, shifting the container to his other hand. “No, but I’m insulted that you’d think I couldn’t make lasagna if I wanted to. Don’t you remember that breakfast I made a few weeks ago?”

Peter’s expression twists into something between disbelief and amusement. “No offense, Mr. Stark, but breakfast food is the easiest food to cook. Everyone knows that.”

Tony lets out an exaggerated huff, raising his chin like he’s offended. “Okay, first of all, it’s not the easiest. Eggs are complicated, Parker. And second, let’s see you whip up a gourmet omelet at 7 a.m. after getting four hours of sleep.”

Peter laughs, the sound light and easy, and Tony feels the corner of his mouth twitch upward. Yeah, this feels better.

-

“Ned, meet Mr. Stark,” Peter says, and he doesn’t even try to hide the pride in his voice. He couldn’t if he wanted to.

Ned’s always believed him about the Stark internship—no skepticism, no raised eyebrows. That probably has a lot to do with the fact that Ned knows Peter is Spider-Man, but it’s also because Ned’s his best friend. He knows Peter isn’t a liar.

Still, actually getting to introduce these two parts of his life feels surreal. It’s like taking two completely different worlds—one where he’s a normal kid sitting in AP Chemistry, and one where he’s swinging across the city skyline—and watching them collide. It’s crazy. It’s impossible. And yet, here they are.

He glances at Ned, who’s staring at Tony like he’s just seen the sun for the first time. Peter knows without a doubt that Ned’s going to obsess over this moment forever.

“Nice to put a face to the name of the kid who hacked a multimillion-dollar suit,” Tony says, his brows lifting in amusement.

Ned’s eyes widen to the size of saucers, and he blinks rapidly, his face draining of color. “Sorry! Sorry, sir,” Ned stammers, his voice shaky, and Peter can’t help the grin that pulls at his lips.

He nudges Ned lightly with his shoulder. “He’s teasing you, Ned. It’s fine,” Peter says, but he knows Tony well enough now to catch the subtle layers in his tone. Sure, it’s a warning—don’t ever do it again—but it’s also impressed.

Tony crosses his arms, smirking slightly. “Impressive, though. I’ll have to talk to Pepper about getting you in for a day to work alongside some of our coders. Let you channel that energy somewhere a little more productive.”

Peter glances at Ned and is pretty sure his best friend just forgot how to breathe.

Ned’s mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. “Y-you mean, like… an internship?” he squeaks, barely audible.

“More of a trial run,” Tony says with a casual shrug, though the twinkle in his eye makes it clear he’s enjoying this.

Peter laughs under his breath, watching as Ned teeters somewhere between sheer panic and uncontainable excitement. Yeah, this moment is going to live rent-free in Ned’s head forever.

“Mr. Stark, this is Joey Gladstone,” Peter says, gesturing toward the small boy still sitting cross-legged on the floor with a lopsided grin. “His aunt’s in the kitchen with Miss Potts and Aunt May—she’s our neighbor from across the hall.”

Tony nods, his expression softening as Peter crouches down to Joey’s level, smiling at the seven-year-old. “Joey, this is Mr. Stark. He’s an engineer… and a superhero… and a scientist…” Peter pauses, fumbling for a title that actually fits. “Well, he’s lots of things.”

Joey’s grin widens, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Cool! My daddy’s an arch- uh… architect!”

Peter watches as Tony’s smile shifts, becoming something quieter, softer, as he bends down just enough to meet Joey’s level and holds out a hand for a high five. “Your daddy sounds cool,” Tony says, his voice lighter, less commanding than usual.

It’s strange, seeing Tony interact with a kid—like, a real kid. Not a teenager who’s still figuring things out or someone who’s half-superhero in their spare time. Just a regular seven-year-old with sticky fingers and a fascination with Christmas cookies.

Peter’s mind drifts for a second, unbidden, to what Tony would’ve been like if they’d met when Peter was Joey’s age. Would Tony have talked to him the same way? Smiled at him like that? It’s a thought Peter quickly pushes away, the edges of it too sharp, the implications too tangled in things he’s not ready to unpack.

“This is Ned’s Lola and his mom,” Peter says, moving on quickly and gesturing toward the loveseat where the two women are still seated, watching the scene with amused smiles. “And then this is Alex and Meredith—they work with May at the hospital.”

After introductions, the Parker apartment is buzzing with energy. Plates of food balance precariously on knees, voices overlap, and Joey’s laughter cuts through the noise every few seconds, high and uninhibited. Peter sits cross-legged by the coffee table, his plate of lasagna still mostly untouched because he’s too focused on watching Tony Stark hold court in his living room.

It’s surreal. Like, this is Tony Stark. Sitting on their couch—the one that creaks if you lean too far to the left—with Pepper on one side and a pillow that’s definitely older than Peter on the other.

“So, I gotta ask,” Alex says, leaning forward from the armchair with that kind of grin people get when they’re trying to act cool but are actually freaking out inside. “What’s the craziest thing you built as a kid? Did you, like, make a rocket in your garage or something?”

Tony raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I mean, I tried once. It didn’t end well. Lesson learned: you need to factor in wind resistance.”

Alex laughs, and Meredith shakes her head, fork poised midair. “You’re kidding,” she says, but there’s this glint in her eye, like she’s not actually sure.

“Would I lie?” Tony replies, leaning back against the couch like he owns the place.

Peter grins, shaking his head as he shoves a bite of lasagna in his mouth. Tony’s in full Stark-mode, doing his thing where he’s just charming enough to make you forget that he’s Iron Man.

“So, Mr. Stark,” Ned’s mom says, her voice cutting through the laughter as she sets her plate on the side table. “May tells us you’re Peter’s mentor. Is that right?”

Peter freezes for half a second, fork clinking against his plate as his ears burn.

Tony glances at Peter, one eyebrow quirking slightly, before nodding. “Yeah, something like that. Kid’s got a talent for engineering. He’s been working on some pretty impressive projects with me.”

Peter feels his face go redder, which isn’t fair because that’s not even the first time Tony’s said something like that. He’s used to the praise—or, okay, he’s trying to get used to it—but hearing it here, in front of Ned’s mom and lola? That’s next level.

“Pretty impressive, huh?” Lola echoes with a soft laugh. “That’s good. It’s nice to have someone who believes in him.”

Peter swallows hard, the warmth in his chest turning a little heavier. He knows Lola didn’t mean anything by it, but the way Tony nods, like he really means it when he says, “Believing in him isn’t hard,” makes Peter’s throat feel tight.

Before Peter can think too hard about that, Joey pipes up, “Mr. Stark, are you, like, a real superhero? Like Spider-Man?”

Peter’s brain short-circuits. His fork is midair, halfway to his mouth, and he doesn’t dare look at anyone in the room who knows the secret. 

Tony, of course, doesn’t even flinch. “Well,” he says, leaning forward slightly, “I don’t know about like Spider-Man. That guy’s on a whole other level.”

Joey gasps, slapping his hands on the table. “You know Spider-Man?”

Tony smirks, flicking a quick glance at Peter. “I might’ve run into him once or twice.”

Peter lets out a slow breath, trying not to laugh as Joey nods solemnly like Tony’s just told him he met Santa Claus

The night eventually starts winding down the way nights like this always do—slowly, like everyone’s reluctant to let the joy go just yet. Plates are scraped clean, leftovers get packed into mismatched containers, and the conversations dip into quieter tones, punctuated by tired laughs. Peter watches from his spot by the coffee table, his legs stretched out now, as May hands out goodbyes like they’re party favors.

“Thanks for having us,” Ned’s mom says, her hand lightly resting on her mom’s shoulder. “You know how much we look forward to this.”

“You’re always welcome,” May says, pulling her into one of those May Parker hugs that makes you feel like you belong.

Ned hangs back by the door, rocking on his heels and glancing between Peter and Tony with a grin so wide Peter wonders if it hurts. “This was, like, insane,” Ned says, his voice just shy of an excited whisper. “Best Christmas Eve ever.”

Peter snorts, nudging him lightly. “Glad you could make it, man.”

From the couch, Tony raises a hand in a lazy wave. “Nice meeting you, Ted. And hey, next time? Maybe give me a heads-up before hacking my suits.”

Ned blinks rapidly, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. “Y-yeah. Got it. Totally. No problem,” he stammers, looking like he might actually faint.

Peter shakes his head, biting back a laugh. Only Tony could say something like that and leave someone equal parts terrified and thrilled.

The last of the guests shuffle toward the door, Alex and Meredith juggling takeout containers May practically forced on them.

“May, you’ve gotta give me this lasagna recipe,” Meredith says, flashing a smile over her shoulder.

May shakes her head, laughing softly. “Oh, I didn’t make it. Tony and Pepper brought it.”

“Well, technically, we ordered it,” Pepper says with a shrug, earning a playful nudge from Tony.

Meredith just laughs. “Either way, it was amazing.”

Peter leans against the wall, watching as Alex waves and says something polite about seeing him around. It’s weird. The whole night’s been weird in the best way. Seeing Tony and Pepper here, fitting into this little chaotic corner of his life, feels… good. Not just good, but right.

When the door finally closes behind Alex and Meredith, the apartment feels quieter—like someone turned down the volume but left the good energy behind.

“Well, that went well,” May says, brushing her hands on her apron as she surveys the room.

Peter glances over at Tony, who’s still sitting on the couch, looking more relaxed than Peter’s ever seen him. He’s always been larger than life, even in sweatpants and a hoodie, but right now? He looks normal. Comfortable. Like he belongs here.

“You sticking around, Mr. Stark?” Peter asks, tilting his head.

Tony raises an eyebrow, smirking. “If I say yes, does that mean I have to help clean up?”

May tosses a dish towel over her shoulder, rolling her eyes. “Yes, it does.”

Tony pretends to think it over, then nods. “Fine. But only because it’s Christmas Eve and I’m feeling generous.”

-

Tony finds himself elbow-deep in soapy water, scrubbing plates while Peter shuffles back and forth from the living room, carrying an endless stream of mismatched cups and bowls. Behind him, May and Pepper sit on the couch, finishing off the bottle of wine they’d brought. Their laughter carries through the small apartment, soft and unguarded.

From his vantage point in the kitchen, Tony watches Pepper. She’s smiling, really smiling, her posture loose in a way that feels rare. She leans toward May, her voice lilting with something that sounds like an old story. May laughs in response, her cheeks pink from wine and warmth.

Tony can’t look away, mostly because it’s something he doesn’t see often—Pepper like this. Relaxed. Letting go. Their life at the penthouse is a careful balance of work and not much else. Sure, they have Rhodey, Happy, and the occasional outing with the business associates, but this? Hanging out in a cramped living room with mismatched furniture and old plates, sharing stories and wine with a friend? This is new.

He likes it.

More than that, he thinks she likes it.

Peter clears his throat, snapping Tony out of his thoughts as he places another stack of dishes on the counter. “This should be the last of it,” Peter says, glancing toward the living room before looking back at Tony.

“I’ll wash, you dry, kiddo,” Tony says, handing Peter a towel.

Peter nods, taking the towel without hesitation, and Tony notices how natural it feels—working alongside the kid like this, the steady rhythm of water running and dishes clinking filling the space.

“You know,” Tony says, rinsing off a plate and handing it over, “I should come back and fix this dishwasher of yours. Can’t believe you’ve been stuck with it this long.”

Peter’s laugh is small, almost sheepish. “It’s been broken since I was eight,” he admits, drying the plate before setting it on the counter. “Ben tried to fix it once, but it got… worse. Way worse.”

Tony raises an eyebrow, his hands stilling for a moment in the water. “Worse, huh?”

“Yeah,” Peter says, glancing toward the living room like he’s checking to make sure May’s still distracted. “But neither of us had the heart to tell him. He worked so hard on it.”

Tony hums softly, making a mental note to grab whatever parts he’ll need to get the thing running again. It’s not a big deal—not for him, anyway—but the thought of Peter and May making do for all these years, patching things together instead of fixing them, sticks in his chest in a way he doesn’t love.

The two of them settle into a quiet rhythm, the conversation falling away as they focus on the dishes. Tony scrubs, Peter dries, and every so often, May’s laughter from the living room breaks through the silence.

“Thanks for coming tonight, Mr. Stark,” Peter says suddenly, his voice soft but certain.

Tony glances down at him, catching the way Peter looks up at him with wide, earnest eyes, his expression open in a way that tugs at something deep in Tony’s chest.

“It was really nice,” Peter continues, his voice just barely above a whisper.

Tony swallows, handing over another plate as he finds his voice. “Yeah, it was.” He pauses, his tone softening as he adds, “You’ve got a good thing here, kid. It’s special.”

Peter’s face lights up, the faintest blush coloring his cheeks as he ducks his head. “Thanks, Mr. Stark,” he murmurs, focusing on the plate in his hands.

Tony watches him for a moment longer, the pull in his chest sharper now, more exposed. He hadn’t expected to feel this tonight—to feel this much. But he does.

And somehow, it doesn’t feel overwhelming.

“So, what are your plans for the big day tomorrow?” Tony asks, glancing down at Peter as he dries the last plate. His tone is casual, but his curiosity lingers just beneath the surface.

Peter shrugs, his movements unhurried as he stacks the dishes on the counter. “May and I usually make cinnamon rolls in the morning, and then we open presents. That’s… kind of it.”

Tony hums, considering the simplicity of it. He’s quiet for just a second too long, his mind working over an idea he doesn’t even realize he’s settled on until the words are already tumbling out of his mouth.

“You should come have Christmas dinner with us,” he says, the offer landing somewhere between spontaneous and inevitable.

Peter freezes mid-motion, his hands hovering over the dish towel, and Tony wonders for a second if he’s overstepped. But then Peter looks up, and his smile stretches so wide it’s like the kid can’t contain it.

“I’ll have to ask May,” Peter says, glancing toward the couch where May and Pepper are laughing like old friends. His smile softens, his voice warm as he adds, “But… something tells me she’ll be down.”

Tony follows Peter’s gaze, his own lips twitching into a grin at the sight of May leaning toward Pepper, her hands animated as she talks. It’s strange, seeing these pieces of his life blend so seamlessly, but it feels… right.

“Good,” Tony says, turning back to Peter. “Because we still need to give you your presents.”

Peter’s eyes widen, his hands falling to his sides as he sputters, “Mr. Stark, you didn’t need to get me any presents. The bank account thing was already more than enough.”

Tony shakes his head, grabbing a dish towel to dry his hands. The bank account—the one he’d set up quietly, funneling in internship royalties and Spider-Man trademark earnings—wasn’t a gift in his mind. It was practical. A necessity. Something Peter deserved, not something that should sit under a tree wrapped in shiny paper.

“The bank account was just the beginning,” Tony says with a shrug, his voice light but leaving no room for argument.

Peter stares at him for a beat longer, like he’s trying to figure out if Tony’s serious. And then, slowly, his expression shifts into something softer, something that tugs at Tony in ways he still doesn’t quite understand.

“Thanks, Mr. Stark,” Peter says quietly, his voice earnest in a way that makes Tony pause.

Tony clears his throat, turning toward the counter to grab another dish. “Don’t mention it, kiddo. Now go make sure your aunt’s not roping Pepper into some pyramid scheme gossip circle, would you?”

Peter laughs, the sound bright and unguarded, before heading back toward the living room. Tony watches him go, a small smile tugging at his lips despite himself.

With the kitchen clean, the wine bottle polished off, and stars faintly visible through the hazy New York sky, Tony knows it’s time to head out. He doesn’t really want to—leaving the Parker apartment feels like stepping out of this little bubble of warmth and chaos that’s wrapped around them all night.

But the good news is, they’ve already made plans. The unanimous decision for the Parkers to join them for Christmas dinner tomorrow makes the parting less permanent. All Tony has to do is get through the next twelve hours before they’re all reunited for more holiday spirit.

Peter stands by the door, his hand hovering over the knob like he’s stalling for time. Tony gets it—he feels it too. There’s this reluctance hanging in the air, a quiet resistance to letting the night slip away.

Still, practicality wins out. He grabs Pepper’s jacket and helps her slide it on as she steps clumsily toward him, a content smile on her face.

“I am not putting those on,” she says, pointing to her high heels abandoned by the door.

Tony nods, grimacing at the thought of New York streets in the middle of the night. “Looks like I’m carrying you down the stairs,” he sighs dramatically, but the grin tugging at his lips betrays him.

May and Pepper hug tightly, both laughing like old friends as they exchange promises about tomorrow. Pepper insists she’ll pull the book they’d been talking about, while May says she’ll dig out Peter’s baby books to bring along.

“May!” Peter groans, his face heating up.

“Oh, don’t worry, Pete,” Tony teases with a smirk. “We’ll only tease you a little.”

Peter scowls, but there’s no real bite to it.

Pepper turns to Peter next, pulling him into a hug and pressing a light kiss to his forehead. “It was so nice to see you, Peter. Merry Christmas Eve,” she says warmly.

Peter blushes at the gesture, ducking his head as he squeezes her back. “Merry Christmas Eve, Miss Potts,” he murmurs, his voice softer than Tony’s ever heard it.

Tony feels something tug at his chest, sharp and full, like his heart might actually burst from how much he feels in this moment.

When it’s his turn, he pulls Peter into a firm, steady hug, and the kid looks up at him, eyes bright and questioning. “We’re there?” Peter asks softly, like he’s been holding onto the question all night.

Tony nods, his smile small but genuine. “Yeah, kid. We’re there.”

Peter’s smile stretches wide, warm and unfiltered. “Merry Christmas Eve, Mr. Stark.”

“Merry Christmas Eve, Peter.”

And with that, it’s time to go. Tony shrugs Pepper into his arms, scooping her up as she laughs, her head resting against his shoulder as he carefully carries her down the creaky brownstone stairs.

“I really, really like them, Tony,” she murmurs, her words slightly slurred but filled with conviction.

Tony glances down at her, a quiet smile playing on his lips as they step out into the cold night air. “I really, really like them too,” he says, the truth of it settling deep in his chest.

As they head toward the car, the city feels a little less cold, a little less big. Tomorrow promises more warmth, more laughter, and for the first time in a long time, Tony thinks he’s actually counting down the minutes to Christmas.